And The Mouse ran Up The Clock
by morgn
Summary: a bunch of collection drabbles and one shots and prompts when I'm bored and decided to fill out. 6: "Danny finds that he enjoys lighting up the darkness when there's another source of light standing beside him, with a mouth sharper than knives and a smile that cuts him to the core. But in a good way." inspired by Taisi
1. blessed warmth

AN - Hey guys, this is just a little side thing from when I'm a bit blocked about my stories in USM or I have inspiration for another project and it's just not working in context. This may be a little Temp/Sam generific but if any of you guys want me to write something for you, drop me a little note in the reviews or my inbox.

* * *

 **[** **blessed warmth** **]**

 **Prompt:** _Imagine it's winter, and Person A of your OTP has just taken a long, hot shower. Person B is cold, and as soon as A exits the bathroom B clings to them and hugs them close for warmth. Even after A has cooled off B continues to cling onto them just because._

 **Pairing:** Temp/Sam

 **Genre:** romance/humor - AKA lots of really cliche and lovey-dovey kissing; beware.

 **Word Count:** 1,443 (without above line break)

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 _Freezing cold_ was not the correct word.

Her arms seemed to shake with the weight of the ice in them, her fingers were frosted at the bed of her nails and her teeth chattered, no matter how much she tossed and turned under the covers. Jokingly, she wondered if the ends of her hair were frosted over, tucked somewhere beneath her arm and further under the pillow of the mussed-up bed. But freezing cold was not the right word for this feeling.

The windows were slammed shut, and the heating was turned on full blast; yet the cold manage to crawl and tuck itself further between her collarbones, deeper into her chest and root itself, to the point where the only warmth she felt was around her toes, and it was a clammy, unwanted feeling, like a cold sweat. So she dug them out, like poking turtle heads, and pulled them back in when the cold dusted it's breath across them.

Sleep tugged at the corners of her eyes, but it seemed to crackle into spider-web splinters from the cold and Tempest groaned, soft and half a yawn, when she tossed again. Distantly, she could hear the water from the shower creep it's way through the pipes before it was turned off, just as she stood to grab a drink - _hot chocolate, of course_ \- that was perched on the bedside table before moving to tuck herself back in.

But the door to the bathroom, a few feet away from the door to the bedroom opened, and Sam wandered outside, shirtless in a pair of Nova pajama pants, rubbing a towel through the black mane that covered his head and Tempest felt her breath catch just a little bit, twigging on some undiscovered part of her. But behind him, heated mist angles up towards the ceiling, transparent fingers brushing the cheap wallpaper they'd bought months prior and suddenly, she notices the same mist rising from Sam's own shoulders as he wanders towards the room.

 _Heat._ Tempest doesn't pause in the way she jumps upwards, like a child excited, and bounds towards him when he crosses the threshold into the bedroom. He falls back a few centimeters when a soft mess of brown hair lodges itself squarely beneath his chin, and small arms knot themselves around his waist, comfortable and content when she lets out a sigh when she presses closer.

His chest lurches with a surprised laugh and he tucks his own arms around her shoulders, one hand pressing down the stand-on-end hairs at the crown of her head. "What's this about? You're never clingy, you know, but if you wanna be..."

Suggestion lingers on his tongue as he angles her head towards her, only gaining the peek of a brown eye from her hiding space with a chewed-on smile. "Don't make fun of me, Sparky. It's freezing."

"Really? I can't feel it."

"That's because you're _boiling_ ," she sighs, nuzzling closer into the Hispanic boy's neck, savoring the heat that rises like mist off of him and he laughs again, pressing a soft kiss to her hairline. He ghosts a hand across the plane of her shoulders, down the valley of her spine, as if blessing her with warmth and she preens, pressing further into the touch.

Sam smiles at the normally touch-intolerant girl who is suddenly clingy, suddenly curling up to him like he's been jokingly whining for whenever they're on their own and it breaks his heart to try and pull out of the grip, even if just for a little while. "Babe," he says, and smirks at the annoyed wrinkle of her nose," I've sorted gotta get dressed for bed, but if you let me get dressed, I'll warm you up after."

He almost collapses at the uncharacteristic whine that reverberates through her ribs like a hummingbird; it vibrates through her into his own torso and he bites on his lip when she tugs closer, chipping away at his willpower. She peers up, innocent and so tiny, he almost scoops her up.

"Come on, let me just get dressed. It's only for a few moments. Get in bed, _please._ "

She tries not to look at the worry that strains his eyes when he see's her own droop with exhaustion - she's known for not sleeping well, for having nights plagued with pulling up with a sob in her throat and Sam's always been the one to fold her into him and press her back into sleep with hands much kinder than the ones in her nightmares. So, reluctantly, she pulls away, practically flinging herself on the bed and diving under the covers, sighing happily as the leftover warmth envelopes her again.

Sam smiles and he winds around the bed to tug open a draw and pull out a shirt, but as his arms make their way into the sleeves, he hears a soft voice, muffled by a pillow. "Wait."

He pauses in his dressing and turns, almost choking at the sight. His tiny, frail little girlfriend, who was completely scared of even getting dressed around him is on her knees on the bed and tugging off her own shirt, pulling it up over her head and placing it by her side, now just in a small black tank top. Although she shivers against the bite of the cold, she holds out a hand, gesturing towards the shirt with pinked cheeks, bottom lip pushing into a stubborn pout. The boy swallows a laugh, and gestures for her to throw her arms up, which she does willingly.

He swoops in to place a kiss on her mouth before tugging the shirt around her tiny frame, and letting it fall down her arms. He smiles when her head pokes out of the neck hole, with a wide smile bleeding across her cheeks, pulling out the hairs that had gotten stuck inside. She sighs around the warmth and before he can protest, her hands are slotting themselves around his wrist, the long arms flapping lazily. They're tugged forcefully, though with the little strength she held in the palm of her hand, it felt just like a push from the wind in the right direction.

Sam was tugged onto the bed, and his legs, unbidden by him, slipped under the covers when she fell beneath them and soon, she was pulling the duvet over them both and pressing her face just over his collarbone, tapping a small rhythm against his heart, which Sam grabbed whilst sliding his own arm around her shoulders. He tugged at the few strands of hair that leaked like spilled chocolate against the covers, and a smile pulled up on his mouth.

"You've just got to have your own little way, haven't you?"

"Go to sleep."

"You steal my shirt, so I'm going to bed freezing cold, while you're all toasty and -" he's cut off when suddenly, from her perch against his chest, she lifts herself and balancing on one forearm, presses her mouth to his. The hand that had been in his grasp trails upwards, cupping his jawline before pushing it's way through the hair just above his ear, and Sam takes the opportunity. The hand that had snaked around her shoulders drips downwards, sliding around her waist and pulling her entirely on top of him, her small body fitting lightly.

She pulls back, and he can see the effect he's had on her immediately - she doesn't budge and smirks from beneath the mess of brown curls she holds, folding her arms across his chest and sitting her chin on them. Sam snorts, and tickles her side, letting Tempest dissolve into giggles against him and he picks apart pieces of her hair as she blinks up at him, sleep pulling her closer to it's embrace.

When her knees pull up and her head dips down, Sam sighs in contentment, and pulls her further up so he can press a lazy, sleep-filled kiss to her mouth and tug his shirt further down her thighs. "Just for future reference, that's the best way to shut me up. Always do it, especially in front of Parker; it'll really annoy him."

"Oh my god, warmth is not worth this."

Quickly, Sam pulls her up to place another kiss on her mouth, grinning when she tugs closer, sleep seeping into every corner as he yawns around his words. "But I am."

 _Freezing cold_ is not the right word, she concludes. _Blessed warmth_ is.


	2. fragments

AN - so, this isn't actually a prompt, but i felt a bit angsty tonight and I thought these two needed some time together. This will probably only be small, around five hundred to around a thousand words maybe. don't know when this could be sent so it's sorta off to the side from Caim and Volatile. anyways enjoy.

* * *

 **[** **fragments** **]**

 **Prompt:** This isn't actually a prompt, I was just feeling temp and ava having some bonding time.

 **Genre:** Angst/hurt and comfort - AKA, please read at your own risk

 **Involved:** Tempest, White Tiger.

 **Word count:** 1,117 (without the above line break)

* * *

Ava Ayala is not good at putting people back together.

Ava Ayala, for all her academic success and strategic crime fighting as White Tiger, is prone to clumsy hands and mis-matched words on a tongue that's not used to putting people back together. She's embedded with the need to tuck away her own fears until she can release them through strikes or push them down far enough that they become insignificant. So she's at an utter disadvantage when curfew strikes and she's ordered to find Tempest, hidden somewhere in the folds of the Triskellion.

The roof was her first bet - Tempest could be found teetering on the edge, arms flung wide like a child on a tight-rope and her crescent-moon smile pulling the corners of her mouth up in laughter. She was prepared to find the same thing, to huff a mock-motherly sigh at the shorter brunette and corral her back inside. Tempest was famous for missing curfew by a few minutes, and even if it annoyed Ava sometimes that she was usually always the one that had to get her, she'd never say a bad word about it.

But there are no words in her throat when she pushes through the door to the roof. The wind is harsh, throwing crown locks like dolls hands and the soft, scared pants into shredded whispers on it's currents. Ice slips with the wind, and Ava feels the cold creep through her uniform like wandering fingers, and she bristles against it. Vaguely, she remembers winter's on it's way.

Her eyes narrow behind the mask, when sat with her legs hanging over the Tempest, hair flying widely like a corkscrew tornado is wrapped only around her, is Tempest. Her mask and hero shirt are both off, replaced by a t-shirt miles to big for her weakened frame. But when she moves closer, she can see wary brown eyes staring off of the edge with her legs tucked up, so tight it almost looks like she tipping -

"Tempest!" Ava darts forwards, power sliding harshly into her legs and she hooks her elbows beneath Tempest's curled up arms. But just as she drags her from the edge, to sit squarely on the graveled rooftop, Tempest snaps back to life and sudden screaming fills the rooftop. It shudders Ava's fear further into her bones when, with unseeing eyes, Tempest lashes out at her, feet kicking and fists punching.

She doesn't see Ava, doesn't see the way she rears back in shock and tries to grab her wrist as she claws at her own skin, muttering about needles and bruises that _aren't there_. And when the Latina tries to hook her back into reality, she has to anchor her arms around her waist and pull her to her chest, pressing her nose into the nape of her hair as Tempest, lost in another life, begins to cry.

"Please, P-Please - I didn't - you can't do this, I'm - oh god, _oh god,_ I'm gonna die here, I'm -"

"Temp! T-Tempest! Stop. It's okay! It's okay," slowly, the fight ebbs out of her, like rivers through mud and Ava sinks to the ground, knees bent to prop the brown-eyed girl against her chest. Her breathing was turned on it's side, crackling in a way that sounded to sickly for her, chest rising and falling like concave rocks. Ava murmured something low in her ear, telling her to calm down and ease her breathing.

But she didn't seem to be listening or couldn't hear her, so Ava led by example; she placed Tempest's hand over her chest and slowly inhaled and exhaled. Gently, surely, Tempest began to match the pace and her own breathing evened out, almost as if she were asleep. But Ava knew. So, as she wiped the tears from wide eyes, the shorter girl peered up.

It was so hard to watch Tempest cry. In the first few months of knowing her, the girl had been solemn and silent; she still was to an extent. And yes, she sniffled at old movies or when she didn't get the ending in a book that Ava borrowed her, but it was so disarming to watch such a tough child cry. So when her fingers curled around Ava's she leaned in further, squeezing them in reassurance.

"A-Ava," her voice tastes sour, a stuttering, static thing that shouldn't be possible and she can only think of calling it a panic attack that had done this to her soft friend. "Ava, wha' happened?"

"You were hallucinating," she says softly, coaxing the girl to slump against her more comfortably. Her legs curl up like lazy springs, and when Ava tries to awkwardly pull her arms around her, she flinches. "And then i think you ahd a panic attack."

"W-What's a panic attack?"

Ah, her element - the facts of the problem. "A panic attack," she starts, "is a sudden overwhelming feeling of acute and disabling anxiety."

Tempest nods at the definition that's probably been pulled from a dictionary, and there's a pause before something rattles, something breaks in her chest. Uncharacteristically clingy, like a child whose gone to long without a mother, the shorter buries herself into Ava's neck and sobs rock her shoulders. Taken aback, Ava awkwardly pats her back, unsure of what to say.

"It's so hard..."

"What is?"

"To know...that I'm not unique, that I'm made from the _fragments_ of someone else," she says into her shirt, stained with tears and Ava feels her heart clench fiercely when her hands curl tighter at the fabric around her waist. 2"I-I'm not even a real _person_."

And Ava Ayala, for all her academic success and strategic crime fighting, is prone to having clumsy hands with even clumsier hearts. So she sits mutely, afraid to speak, and lets Tempest cry until she can coax her back to the bunk-room and into her bed. And the next day, though she'd never admit it, she talks to Coulson about a possible psychologist interview for SHIELD, and a few more breaks for the girl.

And, she'd never admit it, but Ava would take the next hit, the next tear, the next hundred of Tempest's breakdowns so she doesn't have to move around furniture in her heart to cope with the fear by herself any longer. So Ava hopes, that she forgives her when she's called for a psych eval a week later.


	3. forts

**[** **forts** **]**

 **Prompt:** _"Our kid is totally the one who wanted to build a pillow fort, not me."_

 **Pairing:** Ava/Peter

 **Genre:** romance/humor - AKA family love.

 **Word Count:** 985 (without the above word count)

* * *

Peter Parker is known for a being a _child_ , with a couple of quick zingers on standby and hands big enough to scare the monsters away for his children. Peter Parker is also known for being run over by the amount of women in his life - Aunt May being his sole motherly figure, paired with a wife that is notorious for responsibility and sensible actions, with twin daughters that are polar opposites, there's no wonder to why he flourished with laughter in his breast bone.

So, it's no sudden miracle when he pushes through the door at home, biceps thrumming with sore muscles from web-slinging his way home and kicking off his shoes, that he hears laughter vibrating from some small square of the townhouse in Queens - just far enough from Aunt May that they can walk on Saturdays and Sundays. His lips pull up in a tired smile no matter how many times he's heard their laughter.

It's a unanimous silence though, when the door slots into place with a rattle - he really needs to get that _one_ hinge fixed - and the laughter pauses. Then, there's a sudden thrum of excited footsteps, and slipping on the floor in a pair of mis-matched bed-socks, is his more excitable daughter, Awilda. Thick brown hair catches his breath and soft, chubby arms, melted brown by the sun and heritage curl themselves around his neck when she jumps, with all the elasticity of a spider, into his waiting arms.

She giggles happily as he gives her a tough squeeze and she pulls back, big round blue eyes staring at him with veiled excitement. Somewhere, in the pockets of her Pj's, the six-year-old picks a key chain out of her pocket. "Daddy, look what auntie Awilda got me!"

It swings with her name in scrawled letters and Peter lights up, just like his daughter. "Hey, look'it! Finally, one with your name on!"

She giggles against his cheek when she kisses it in greeting, and crawls down his front, but keeping a firm hold of his wrist. The blue-eyed man huffs a good-natured laugh, murmuring about letting him get his jacket off first, but the child is insistent like her mother, and he's soon following her expertly through the house until he's thrown into the living room.

The sight that greets him is magnetic.

It's not often he sees his wife in pajamas on her days off, or even when she wakes in the morning - she's always wide-eyed far quicker than him to the point of him never seeing her change out of her bed clothes. But her fingers hurry and pull and tweak at a man-made fort, of pillows and blankets and that _addictive_ laughter as she tries to wrestle the other little girl from between the blankets.

A head of blackened hair finds an exit through the other side of the pillows, and hazel eyes, framed by thick lashes stare at him, the same identical face as Awilda. Her mouth pulls into an excited grin, reserved only for her parents, as Ava digs up through the other end to catch the girl.

" _Ma-a-ay_ , where are _you-u-u_. I'll find you somewhere, sweetie."

"Dad's home!" The small child is pushing and kicking off the blankets towards the Latina, bursting from the confines and similarly throwing herself into her father's arms like her twin, who bounces excitedly by his side. But May squeezes harder than her excited sister, because she knows what her father and mother are and she _worries_ , just like her mother, and buries her face just below his ear. It's not that her sister didn't know, it was just that May was more attuned to fear than fun, a trait he could identify every time he heard of their team members lives. The man gives her another squeeze, letting the inquisitive child feel every ounce of love and _I'm okay, I'm fine_.

"Missed you."

"Missed you too, baby," he murmurs into her hair, kissing her forehead at the end of it, when his wife pokes her head from the other side of the fort, red-faced and teeth chewing into her bottom lip. Awilda ties her hands through his, laughter thrumming hot in her wide-smile face. "So...what's going on here?"

"Our kid is _totally_ the one who wanted to build a pillow fort, not me," the answer is quick and fast, much like the way she crosses the room to press a kiss to his jaw, missing the scruff, and scoops up her other daughter as her husband raises a brow. Awilda is instantly climbing up to try and perch on her mother's shoulders as she narrows her gaze towards Peter, subtly lining her sentence with 'don't you _dare_ make fun of me.'

"That so?"

"Of course, why not?"

"Because I feel _totally_ offended I wasn't invited," he sends a joking glance towards May who curls her small body against his chest - always a daddy's girl - and tosses her smile into the crooks of his collarbones. Awilda whines slightly, tugging her mother's shirt and stares at her father until he relinquishes the mock-hurt look on his face. "I'll go put my Pj's on, you reassemble."

The twins give a whoop of celebration, and immediately climb down their parents to prop up the kitchen broom stick in the middle of the fort and line it with pillows, leaving the two adults to smile at each other. Ava leans forwards into Peter's arms, wrapping her arms around his neck and his around her waist and pressing a soft kiss to his mouth with a subtle smile.

"Glad you're home safe."

"Nice Pj's, Ava."

"You're uninvited."


	4. colour run

AN - Got this off a bunch of prompts on my tumblr dash and decided I'd have a go. If anyone wants one, feel free to look on my profile for the link and send me an ask.

* * *

 **[ colour run** **]**

 **Prompt:** _"Your stray red item turned my whites pink."_

 **Pairing:** Ava/Peter

 **Genre:** romance/humor - AKA what am I even doing.

 **Word Count:** 392 (without the above link break)

* * *

"My _what?_ "

He's staring, with glassy eyes fogged by sleep like steam on a bathroom window, as the lithe Latina grips something scratched with black stripes and long and distinctly tinted pink. In her other hand, dragging itself along the work counter is a familiar glove, jagged black lines resembling webs across the entire design. Peter's mouth folds.

"Your _suit,_ " she bites, shaking the stray item out, throwing water and splashing sounds everywhere but she doesn't seem to care as she holds up the white object, now recognized as her white tiger suit. His hand grips the edge of the counter tighter as the corners of his folded lips twitch like synapses on replay. "Turned my entire uniform pink! What the heck am I going to do? We have patrol tonight!"

When he doesn't answer, Ava's head peers up at him and her brows set downwards.

"Don't you dare."

A shaky response is all she receives. "W-What? I'm not doing anything."

"It isn't funny."

"I'm n-not laughing-g."

"Peter -"

He couldn't take it; his hands slip from where they gripped the counter to keep him upright, his laughter booming and shaking the world around him as his body bent at the waist, huffing in breath after breath as he struggled to contain his laughter. Ava's brow furrowed and when he pulled back up, with a beaming, breathless smile on his face, it took every bit of the self-control she'd accumulated over the years to not lose herself to laughter in the light of this beaming boy's smile.

He tries to tweak the grin from his cheek's, but it's hard, even with an eyebrow raised in his direction. "I'm sorry."

" _Yeah,_ you should be," but as Ava's murmuring to herself, forcefully trying to scrub out the pink, a pair of arms wind themselves around her waist, and her cheeks bloom red in the dingy, shared kitchen they own. His head fits snugly into her shoulder and a rare, content smile graces her face.

His breath is warm against her ear as he talks. "Well, now you can be the pink tiger."

He's gone, flying through the doorway with a laugh at his heels as she swipes a claw against him. " _PETER PARKER!_ "


	5. scrapes

AN - finally, someone requested, which made me _super happy_. So, in celebration of season four, here's a little romance prompt for spidey and the web warriors, requested by Guest.

* * *

 **[ scrapes** **]**

 **Prompt:** Bromance - "...spiders have to stick together, because their great power makes them a great responsibility to each other. Every time."

 **Genre:** Humor/Friendship

 **Involved:** Spiderman, Agent Venom, Spiderman (Miles Morales), Iron Spider, Scarlet Spider

 **Word count:** 1,372

* * *

They're used to it by now, you vaguely realize. The way the fight ebbs out of their hands and knees when the triskellion comes into view, their arms bending like string as they drop beside you. As the doors open wide and agents rush in, to pry one of your teammates off your shoulders and slink them off towards the nursing ward with careful hands. Your own shudder and shake like houses caught in a mixed up earthquake, and the fight ebbs out of you too.

Suddenly, there's an arm tucking itself snugly around your waist, strong and reassuring and you peer down to find a blackened spider mask staring up at you, fitting another arm around the front of your torso as you pitch forwards. A soft groan rattles his own ribcage. "Damn Spidey, how much do you way?"

"Can it, kid. He did a lot today," comments a gruff voice that slaps a hand against the back of your shoulder, shoving you forwards with the lack of control he'd put into it. His arms fold, and he hums slightly, Scarlet oblivious to the fatigue that laces your shoulders into knots, that sends your blood pumping with leftover adrenaline.

"I'll say," adds another voice, Scarlet already groaning as Iron Spider walks forwards, fingers tapping rhythmically against his wrist. The yellow eye panels turn up, and even if his face is hidden behind the nuts and bolts of his carefully constructed armor, the rare pride he exudes for you butters his voice kindly. "Not only did he manage to constrain and detain a number of armed and dangerous escapees, he got Venom out of the way before he was crushed and warned him of an attack before we intercepted."

"Really, guys, it was just my spider sense."

"Uh _yeah_ , something we _all_ have," comments Miles, somehow rolling his eyes visibly behind the mask in a voice that prompts that the answer was obvious, and he retracts his arms from around you when you can stand properly once again, "but you got there before any of us even knew and you saved us, _all_ of us. There's something special about you, dude."

"Well, what can I say? Spiders -"

"Stick together, _god,_ " bites Scarlet, the same powerful annoyance that sits in every line of his bones making itself visible as he strides forwards, arms swinging by his side with a confidence he's never truly possessed before. And usually, you would feel offended by the tone of a voice laced in boredom but with Scarlet, you're just happy he got a reply and a brief chuckle bounces around your ripped-up chest, no matter how painful it is to breath.

Miles chuckles awkwardly, still not used to the cold-exterior of the Scarlet spider. "You've said it once or twice before," he acknowledges, and speeds ahead to match his footsteps just behind Scarlet. You and Iron Spider follow behind silently, arms swinging nonchalantly.

"Spidey?"

The word is soft and something hollow sits in it, something devoid of the usual smugness and 'higher-than-thou' complex he has against his high-school rival. Iron Spider peers up, pulling back the face mask and somehow, there's something like admiration in a pair of dark eyes staring up at you. Somewhere, something inside of you knows that he doesn't look up to you just because you're taller anymore.

"Yeah, Amadeus?"

"How do you do it?"

Your brows furrow beneath the mask, and even though you trip over your own feet as you walk, he doesn't blink at the flaw in your walk. He doesn't even acknowledge it. "What do you mean?"

"This," he states plainly, hands raising halfheartedly around himself to the walls of the Triskellion, to Scarlet Spider and Spiderman as they walk ahead of them, Spiderman jumping around loudly, flinging his arms as he recounts one of the many tales of his world to Scarlet and the older spider pretends he doesn't absolutely adore the kid to pieces. You turn back to Amadeus as his hands lower, and you wonder if he's asking for himself at that point. "You've been doing this, what? Two, three years now? You put yourself in danger for people you've known for less than three weeks, for people who...who treated you badly at every chance they got."

His voice reaches something lower, like guilt into his stomach and he's finally pulling it back up, spitting it out subtly so as not to say: _I'm sorry for treating you badly at every chance I got_. Your heart swells a bit and softly, you hang an arm around his shoulders. He jerks at the action, eyes widening as you lean into him, and you don't bother to pretend it's just because you feel your knees might buckle at any moment.

"Amadeus," you start, and the swell of a familiar speech knocks against your throat and you smile, thankful for the subtle apology, even if you don't need it. "I do this because I'm a hero, and so are you. This entire thing isn't about me; it's about all of us. With great power comes great responsibility."

"You seriously need to stop with the quotes, kid."

You ignore Scarlet as you limp into the conference room where Nick Fury stands, and he regards you with your fellow spiders as you relay off the mission report to him, your teammates filling in the blanks when you can't, and it takes a while before the story reaches it's conclusion for the day. Nick Fury stands, shoulders stiff with authority and you don't acknowledge the way his lips quirk into a smile for a moment, before setting into another straight line towards you. "You kids did good."

It takes an hour for the meeting to end, and immediately, Miles bursts from the room and is excited to head towards the nursing department of the Triskellion, where Venom is tucked up with a pizza on his lap and a TV remote on his lap. Immediately, the once-selfish football player's mouth blinds them with a grin and he holds up his pizza with welcoming hands.

"Hey guys, guess what? Nurse Amber said she'd give me her number -"

Miles jumps onto the bed, hanging over the rounded bar at the end towards the TV that hangs high above the bed, rolling a football game with screaming fans and pulls off his mask, revealing wide brown eyes and a smile that could put the sun to shame. "Is this today's game? Oh man, they better -"

Iron Spider drops into a seat beside Venom, holding out a hand out towards the box of pizza as he retracts the mask from his face, smile soft and amused at the way Venom laughs and whoops around a mouthful. He hands the box over after Miles has grabbed a slice. "I swear, if this has anchovies -"

When you slip into the room and stand clear of the chair, a large hand wraps around your wrist that's tucked around your ribs and shoves you into the seat, but the hands are more careful now. Walking around you, Scarlet snatches the box from Amadeus' hands and shoves it towards you, and Amadeus glues his eyes to the TV, shouting slurs with the others and dangling a pizza above his mouth when the opposite team scores. "Eat," commands the red spider, and you hook your hand beneath a piece as he takes a slice.

"Thanks."

As you both pull up the edge of your mask, he nudges you as he leans against the wall by Venom's bed. "Hey," and you turn your head, stomach growling and mouth already full of pizza, but the idea doesn't even come to mind when the next sentence has you grinning. "You did real good today, kid."

The quotes and motto seem to blur, and you realize that spiders have to stick together, because their great power makes them a great responsibility to each other. Every time.

"Flash, you got pizza sauce in my equipment!"

Or not.


	6. shrine

AN - so, I got hit with a little inspiration after a particular comment on 'Caim' - "I kinda sorta ship Lux with Iron Fist. Ever since their first I've been like "kiss!" - and yanno, I thought...why not? This is dedicated to **FinalFantasyCrazedGirl01** for her fabulous OC and continuous support. Remember, if any of you guys want one, request below or send me an inbox !

* * *

 **[ shrine** **]**

 **Prompt:** _Danny finds that he enjoys lighting up the darkness when there's another source of light standing beside him, with a mouth sharper than knives and a smile that cuts him to the core. But in a good way._

 **Pairing:** Danny/Lux (Layla Hale)

 **Genre:** romance/humor - AKA fun little shippy stuff.

 **Word Count:** 1,229 (without the above line break)

* * *

Sometimes, Danny woke up in pure darkness and raced to flick on a nightlife, even if he were seventeen years old. be it early riser or training taken a bad turn, the chi-wielder always found his eyes cracking open, fully rested and muscles ready to be put to work. His routine starts, and after dressing down in a pair of sweats and t-shirt, he glides through the deathly still Triskellion with the grace of a swan in each bend.

His fingers switch on the overhead hanging lights, and the wide mouth of the training room greets him. His hand swipes across the pad by the door, and it changes the room to his preferred, personal settings. It settles into a wide room, with wooden floorboards and folding paper doorways that lead to nowhere, with candles positioned at every open space they can find. It's never home, but it's as close to K'un L'un as the blond can get.

He settles into a meditative stance, fingers folding before his legs kick out to spin him onto his hands as a virtual LMD comes running at him, holding a katana over his head and Danny dodges, sliding under the graceful arch it throws. He kicks a leg high into the back of the LMD, sending it skidding over the floorboards. But, his personal preferences make this one a challenge, as it swings on the palm of its hand into a standing position, bent low at the waist.

The blond arches a smile, and lowers himself in the same way.

There's a pause before Danny throws himself forwards, fists lighting up with the Iron Fist and the LMD dodges expertly, faster than Danny can see and it even catches a couple of punches onto the chi-wielder's back. However, soon, Danny is sending the LMD to the floor and before it can flip into another stance, he sends a glowing fist through the chest. Metal splinters wildly and sparks flicker around the base of the neck, before the virtual image of a man is discarded and Danny is pulling his fist from a crunched and crushed LMD.

It's the slow crescendo of clapping that pulls the tired smile from his features. He turns, blond hair falling gracelessly around his angular face and catches sight of the lithe, loud-mouthed Latina that grins wildly, staring in faint awe. But the image is soon gone when she realizes he see's her and her hands stuff themselves into the over-sized hoodie she dons, and a smirk pulls her face wide.

"I did not know you were an early riser as well, Lux."

"I knew you were," she comments slyly, dripping into the training room like she's lived in there and casts her gaze around the room. She forgets herself, the tough-girl act slipping around the edges and she stares in awe at the intricate details that have been smudged into the virtual reality that Danny has created. He tilts his head in wonder, shocked that someone else can see the way he has filed the tiles so appropriately to mirror the ones back in his mystical city. "Did you...create all _this?_ "

"Yes," he answers, striding towards her, and out of instinct, Lux holds a square of space around her when not in a fight. There, she is in her element. There, she is not stood in someone else's element. He keeps his distance and looks up towards the curve of the ceiling, to the shrine it pulls into it's design like a hug. "I wanted to take a piece of home with me and found that the training room was the most adaptable."

"Wait, you're chinese? No offence, but -"

"No, I'm not. My masters in K'un L'un were though, and we respected their religion and ancestry in everything, so I am used to this design," he answers accordingly, watching how she nods mutely, smiling at the fat little Buddha that perches himself along a row of incense sticks that blow billowing smoke from rounded pots. Then, her head flickers.

"W-Wait, K'un L'un? The mystic city?"

"Yes, I am surprised you know of it."

"Hm, I've always been into history - wanted to know what people did, why they did it," and she hugs her arm to her chest, mind somewhere else, thinking a project from her childhood that left her with unstable powers and a house filled with pitying family members. But she pulls herself back to the present, when Danny is staring at her.

She blinks when he smiles. "History is filled with the sound of silken slippers going downstairs and wooden shoes coming up," she snorts at the proverb, and Danny's mouth widens with another smile and he gestures for her to join him in the center of the room. Subtly, she joins him out of curiosity and he bends at the waist. "Would you do me the honor of training with me Lux?"

"What, in a hoodie? I can't fight in a hoodie."

"Then take it off."

There's a beat between the two, and Danny only realizes what he's said when she murmurs a dramatic 'oka-a-ay' and proceeds to hook her fingers around the hem and lift, only to realize she's wearing only a bra beneath. His hands slap over his eyes and he turns on his heel, face lighting up in red blooms.

Lux pauses, and then laughter bursts from behind her teeth. She bends at the waist, hoodie forgotten as it falls back over her stomach and she laughs. Danny turns, peeking through his fingers and breathing a sigh of relief, though an embarrassed smile plucks itself upon his mouth.

"Th-That was so _cute!_ "

"I suppose it was a surprise..."

"The way you started _blushing,_ oh my _god,_ " she smiles wide and booming laughter everywhere, and sweet-tempered Danny only rolls his eyes at the Latina. When she pulls back up, Danny is folding his fingers around the hem of his own shirt, pulling upwards. "W-What are you doing?"

"You seem to be without the proper attire and I am in need of a practice partner; I can survive without a shirt," and as he holds it out to the girl, who stares in mute shock at him, before winding her fingers around the shirt, he smiles, "look whose blushing now."

"Shut up. Don't look," and she turns when he snuffs a laugh in the back of his hand, pulling off the hoodie and tossing it towards him, which hits him square in the chest and she throws the shirt over her own frame. It's long and the sleeves, short on him, go towards her elbows. She rolls them until they sit like rounded balls over her shoulders and tucks the portion of the shirt that hangs in front of her legs into her shorts. She looks up to find Danny folding her hoodie and placing it at the shrine delicately, with a softness she's never seen. But when the blond looks up, her gaze pulls away.

He stands in front of her, lowered at the waist. "Should we begin, Lux?"

"Ready when you are. By t-the way, call me Layla."

"Danny. _KI-YAH!_ "


End file.
